[美]J.B.卡林顿/J.B.Garrington
我第一次看见他，就被他幽远的眼神吸引住了。那是一双忧郁的眼睛，会使你想到昔日的忧伤，古老的梦境，以及古老的生命秘密。毫无疑问，那就是他灵魂的窗口。我们很注意他的反应，而且对任何小事都抱有热切的兴趣。我确定，对于这种类型，除非你完全把自己投入进去，否则你无法不欣赏，无法不亲近他。
我们很快就从熟客发展成了好朋友，经常一起散步。在任何时候，他都沉默寡言，仅仅从他的行为举止可以确定他在享受着乡村小道的美景和无拘无束、青葱的草地，我们在这清凉的溪水边相遇。我习惯欣赏他的快乐、他的友谊、他那成为一位朋友的感觉。很明显，他的心里没有诡计。有他的陪伴，我多年来的压抑都会消失，会忘却在这条小路和小溪所走过的年轻时代。我也可以放缓步伐，感受奔跑和跳跃的刺激，让一切苦闷随风而逝。
当哀伤的眼睛闪烁着光芒时，每一个步伐都流露出喜悦时，很难平静，也听不到歌声，年老的皱纹体会着新的颤动。至少这是在我和我的朋友一起散步的时候。
我看到他安静地、忧虑地坐在那里，好像是在眺望远处蓝色山冈以外的东西，我希望我能够读懂他的想法，希望能从他忧郁的蓝色眼神中探究他的心思。他们一直很吸引人，那双信赖而又无助的眼神，他依赖人类的仁慈，我不认为有谁会粗鲁地对待他，或是在进餐时，有他在旁边，而不愿与他共享。他感激的态度，虽然从不夸大，或是你觉得他仅仅是因为有好处才表示友善。其实许多人在他们寻找好处时都会很和善。他们对待亲和言语的感激程度超过了得到任何其他礼物。他因相信人类是友好的而感到幸福。我指的不是那些哀诉者和乞求者；而是那种奉献自我，给予他的友谊和关爱但仅仅要求一个友善的回报的人。我并不是特指那些哀诉者和乞求者，但是奉献自我、他们的友谊和爱的真诚、仁慈之心要求有一个同样仁慈的回报。
我的朋友曾经是一个流浪者，我认为他的里程主要是寻找富有同情心和友好的伙伴。他很快就可以注意到他的接近得到了理解，于是他的整个状态从哀伤转到喜悦和充满朝气。我坦白对他友谊的依赖，这让我很满意。我很高兴我跟他同属一个类别，我们能够相遇和互致祝福，一起散步，不用他的语言，我们都意识到我们满意于彼此的世界。
起初，我就对他过去所处的环境表示怀疑。他是一个混血儿，其主要特征表明他的祖先是英国人。他会让人联想到方形下巴的约翰布尔，还有其强健的体魄。在一两次场合中，我发现他完全有能力抵御无礼的粗暴行为来保护他自己。最终，他生存在莎士比亚的法则中：谨慎争吵，但是争吵一旦爆发，就要让对方怕你三分。
他只要经过我的老房，就一定会驻足与我互致祝福。只要在路上与我碰面，他都会友好地摇着尾巴来对我表示敬意。他被许多路人所熟知，没有人不跟他搭话。我离开了老镇和我喜爱的童年时的老屋，但是我希望随着时光的流逝，我的朋友已年至中年或更老，我祝愿他总是有许多称为家的地方，最终使他舒适地度过余生。
过去的日子对于我们来说，充斥着哀伤的回忆。真正的朋友很少，在这个现代化生活的重压下，正直、率真的灵魂很容易被遗忘。
当然，麦克仅仅是一只狗，但是我不得不相信狗是有灵魂的，我们自己也会越来越好，如同他们那样有真诚的爱和信任。
The first time I met him I was impressed by the faraway look in his eyes.They were such sad eyes，eyes that made you think of old sorrows，old dreams，old mysteries of life.They were certainly the windows of his soul.We were soon on familiar terms and I noticed a quick response to a kindly spoken word，a manner that expressed keen interest in any small attention.You know the type，I’m sure，the sort that unless you try entirely absorbed in yourself you can not help liking，cannot help wanting to be kind to.
Our mere acquaintance developed early into a warm friendship and we had numerous walks together.His was ever a silent friendship and only by his manner were you sure he was enjoying the beauty and freedom of the country roads，the lush meadows，the cooling waters of the brooks we met.I used to enjoy watching his enjoyment，his feeling of companionship，his sense of being in friendly company，and I find myself responding to his moods and cheerful abandonment to the joy of the present moment.There was no guile in his heart，evidently，and with him I often forgot the pressing cares of the years，the youth that I’d left along those same roads，along those same brooks.I，too，could walk with a lighter step，feel the impulse to run and jump and let cold care go hang.When sad eyes sparkles and every step betrays enjoyment it’s hard to be a clam and not hear singing voices，feel new thrills in old veins.At least this is the way it always seemed to me when I walked with my friend.
I’ve seen him sitting quietly，pensively，as if trying to look beyond the distant blue hills，and I wished I could read his thoughts，and fathom the soul in those sad brown eyes.They were always appealing，the eyes of a trusting helpless one，one dependent on human kindness，and I couldn’t think of anyone wanting to be rude to him，or being unwilling to share a friendly meal if he happened to be around when the dinner bell rang.He was so appreciative of attention，though he never overdid it，or made you feel that he was only nice for what there was in it.So many can be nice when they are looking for some profit.This fellow was more thankful for a kind word than for any other gift.He simply couldn’t be happy without believing the human world was a friendly one.You have met this kind.I don’t mean the whiners，the fellows that beg，but the genuinely kind soul that gives himself and his friendship and love and only asks a return in kind.
My friend was ever a wanderer and I thought his wanderings were chiefly in search of sympathetic and friendly companionship.He was quick to see when his advances were understood and then his whole manner changed from one of sadness to one of joy and animation.I confess I liked his friendship.It flattered me.I was glad I was one of his sort，and that we could meet and exchange greetings，walk the roads together，and without a word on his part，be conscious we were enjoying each other’s society.
I was from the first in doubt as to his exact nationality.He appeared to be of mixed races，with predominating characteristics that pointed back somewhere to British ancestors.There was a remainder of John Bull in the squareness of his jaw and in his sturdy body，and on one or two occasions I discovered that he was entirely capable of defending himself from uncalled for rudeness.He eventually lived on the Shakespearian principle of：Beware of entrance to a quarrel；but being in，Bear’t that the opposed may beware of thee.
He never walked by my old home without stopping to exchange greetings，never passed me on the road that he was not ready to wigwag kindly a sentiment.He was known to many passer-bys and few but had a kind word for him.I have left the old town and the old boyhood home I loved，but I shall hope as the years go by and my friend reaches the middle years and beyond，that he may always have some place to call home，some place to end his days in comfort.
The older years are so full of sad memories for all of us.True friends are few and the honest simple souls are easily forgotten in the stress of life these modern days.
Of course Mike is only a dog，but somehow I can’t help believing that dogs have souls and that our own are made better by our response to their honest love and faith.
